


Taco Night

by Zhie



Series: Raising Cain In Valinor Once Again [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Difficult Decisions, Family Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22630186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: It's taco night...what can possibly go wrong?Everything.There is more than the stories to this series - see https://raisingcain.weebly.com/ for more fun.
Relationships: Beleg Cúthalion/Túrin Turambar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon, Edrahil/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien), Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Tuor/Voronwë (Tolkien)
Series: Raising Cain In Valinor Once Again [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594654
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25
Collections: 2020 My Slashy Valentine





	Taco Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



It was taco night. There was an agreement in the household that each couple prepared a meal for one of the days of the week, and on the sixth day, they would either be on their own to prepare food or do so as a group. On some rare occasions, they would go into the center of the city and eat at one of the fancy dining halls. These occasions were very rare, for Finrod did not particularly like the establishments nearby on account of still keeping his relationship with Edrahil a secret from most, and this meant only going when they were not busy. Túrin was against nearly any place where they were in public for it caused him to worry to the point of being unable to eat sometimes, but especially when these places were busy and loud, and he feared they might accidentally take the ‘regular’ seats of someone who came more frequently to the establishment.

Tonight, however, was a weekday, and it was the weekday that Voronwë and Tuor were in charge of the meal, and that meant taco night. Tacos were something that Voronwë had encountered during a period of time at the end of the First Age when he was separated, as happened too often, from the survivors of Gondolin he traveled with. He journeyed south, and there met men other Elves had yet not, and that was where he also encountered the elf-child without an Elven-name. It was a boy named Littleheart by a group of Menfolk who had found him as an infant. He was uninjured, but all other Elves around him had been slain. It was hard to tell what had happened, but the Men took the Elf and raised him as one of their own.

Voronwë immediately recognized the child as an Elf, though there was not enough information to know whom the child had belonged to, and who might be his kin. “I will take him back to my people, if you would allow that,” offered Voronwë when he felt the need to travel north again, and the Menfolk agreed that Littleheart should be with his own people. From that day on, Voronwë raised Littleheart as his own son, named him Ilfrin, and brought him to Valinor, to the Cottage of Lost Play, where Littleheart lived now, as a great storyteller in the house.

There were only two places one could get good, authentic tacos in Valinor. One was the Cottage of Lost Play, where Ilfrin shared not only stories, but the best food from remote places of Middle-earth that many Elves had never heard of nor seen. The other was here, in the house at the center of Etil Ambo, the westmost neighborhood of Merenya. It was a quiet part of the city with a fair distance between them and their neighbors. Voronwë often stated that it was lucky they were isolated, or else they would constantly have unwanted guests for taco night.

The likes and dislikes of those in the house were diverse, so taco night featured traditional thin flour wraps as well as a crispy version made with ingredients similar to what was used for lembas. For fillings, there were always ample vegetables and cheeses, bowls of plain and spiced smashed beans, and various types of salsa. For those who preferred meat for protein, there would be either shrimp or chicken, too. Because taco night was a ritual, no one dared miss it. This meant it was an ideal time to bring up something that at least half of the occupants would otherwise avoid.

“Family Council Meeting tonight,” announced Fingon as Finrod and Edrahil entered the dining room, the last two residents to show up for dinner. 

“Now?” asked his cousin.

Fingon shook his head. “After dinner.”

The household retired to a room in the basement after dinner. It was a large space that had no real purpose initially, but Tuor and Túrin constructed some large, low to the ground, cushioned furniture and Glorfindel made an abundance of pillows and throws for the room. Decorated in black and reds, it had thick rugs beneath the furniture to chase away worries of cold feet for the non-Eldar among the group. 

“We received some news today, and the outcome has the possibility of affecting all of us,” explained Fingon after the meeting began. Originally, he had wanted to call these gatherings just ‘Family Meetings’, but Erestor insisted upon something more formal for decision making activities, and explained that a council was the most efficient way to do so, and so their council was formed. Fingon and Maedhros chaired the council; they voted only if there was a tie, and overruled only in extreme circumstances (neither of which had occurred so far; everyone was very conscientious of the needs of the others in the house). Everyone else was granted one vote apiece, and discussion was limited, when topics became debates, to three minutes per person before it was required that someone else have a chance to speak. (Otherwise, admitted Erestor, he was likely to take the floor, not get it back, and win every argument.) 

“Someone ate too many beans,” joked Túrin, and his cousin snorted.

Maedhros had been nervously chewing at his lip throughout most of dinner and continued now. “My nephew is to be released,” he said quietly, and the laughter died down. “Word was sent to me from my brother.”

“That is wonderful, Maedhros!” Glorfindel grinned, but Maedhros only returned the mirth with a brief smile. “When is he to be released?”

“That is the trouble,” explained Fingon. “Celebrimbor has been healed, and he wants to rejoin the physical world, but he made a request that was unexpected. In fact, he made the request, as it turns out, many many years ago. Only now have the Valar considered it, and will tentatively grant it, if Celebrimbor can secure a place for the two of them to live.”

“The two of them?” Finrod squirmed and Edrahil put an arm around his companion’s shoulder. “Celebrimbor...he asked for that monster who abused him to be let out?”

Fingon pressed his lips together and considered his words carefully. “The Valar believe he also may have been reformed.”

“May have been?” Edrahil shook his head. “Never. Never. He will never change what he is. If you are asking what I think you are...no. My answer is no. Our answer is no,” he added as Finrod shook and clung to Edrahil.

Before Fingon could answer, Glorfindel spoke up. “Can we really judge, sight unseen? He suffered the fate of being a thrall of Morgoth--and you are hearing this from someone who fought him longest of any of us,” Glorfindel reminded them. “I expect that the Valar will have stripped him of whatever powers he had, and will be watching him closely.”

“Seems pretty dumb,” said Voronwë. “Is the stipulation that Celebrimbor will only be returned if Sauron gets to come back, too?”

“He is to be called Mairon, but yes, that is what we were told,” said Maedhros. “We do not know to what extent he will be restored. The rest of my family has already said no. I am truly Celebrimbor’s last hope.”

Túrin cleared his throat. “Let me put it this way,” he said gruffly. “I fought and killed a fucking dragon. Allegedly, I am supposed to kill Morgoth some day. If I can do that, I think I could handle Sauron if he gets out of hand. Besides, if the Valar are so confident this will not cause trouble, then I have no problem with him being here.” He looked to Beleg.

“Do we know if he wants to come back?” asked Beleg, who tonight had a snake with him. It was cream and gold, and lazily slid around and across Beleg, gathering warmth from him. Physically, the snake seemed fine when it was brought into the house, and it was an oddity for Beleg to have in his care an animal not in need of protection of some sort. Very soon, the others learned what it was--this snake was prone to hiccups, making it a very poor hunter. “And do we know if he will have any other restrictions we need to see to?”

“He will be required, at least for now, to stay in the house,” said Fingon.

Edrahil lifted a brow. “We would never have a moment without him here?”

“That means, we could go somewhere else, and he would be trapped here,” whispered Finrod to Edrahil.

Fingon wrung his hands. “Well, yes...but we are hoping that you will all agree to stay, too. I know this is not going to be an ideal situation, but we are all family, and...and Celebrimbor is Maedhros’ family, and...and...yes, Beleg?”

“Are we honestly worried about some past villain who is going to be surrounded by people who know what he was up to? He is going to be under our watchful eyes,” said Beleg. “We know everything about him. Some of us even fought him directly. We know his weaknesses.”

“And he knows ours,” said Edrahil quietly.

“But there are ten of us, and one of him,” pointed out Túrin. “And look at us--I fought a dragon, Glorfindel killed a balrog, Tuor killed, what, three of them? Finrod took down a werewolf with his bare hands, and Voronwë managed to survive a shipwreck AND Gondolin. And…” Túrin tilted his head. “I know you fought a lot of things...mostly things we killed...did you ever manage to kill anything?”

Fingon narrowed his eyes as Túrin scrutinized him. “Mostly other Elves.”

“Hmm...well, you were a King--in fact, we have two Kings among us,” Túrin said.

“Three,” Maedhros bitterly grumbled.

“Can we concentrate on the matter at hand?” asked Voronwë. “Maedhros wants to have Celebrimbor live here, but that would mean Sauron living here, too. We should take a vote and see where everyone stands. As for me, I vote no.”

“As do I,” Edrahil said firmly.

“I agree with Túrin,” said Glorfindel. “I believe we can keep the situation in control.”

“And what happens if we do not? What will happen to Valinor?” Finrod’s voice was small and trembling. “I cannot live in the same house as him. My vote is no.”

“This is ridiculous. Are we really going to let a ghost get the better of us?” demanded Túrin. He looked at Beleg.

“I am willing to try. I am, admittedly, curious,” said Beleg. “I will cautiously vote yes.”

“As will I,” said Tuor. “I cannot imagine that the Valar would let him out if they did not think he could be controlled.”

And that was the moment everyone looked at Erestor.

Erestor looked around at the others in the room. “It is down to me, then?” He took a deep breath. “Well. I am in a difficult position. If I vote yes, and something goes wrong, I will be remembered as the person who let him out to wreak havoc on Valinor. If I vote no, I vote against my husband.” 

Glorfindel reached over to squeeze Erestor’s hand. “Nothing you decide will make me love you any less than I do,” he said, and he kissed Erestor’s cheek.

After reciprocating, Erestor smoothed the wrinkles out of his tunic to buy time. “I cannot do either. I must abstain--but I will agree to abide with the majority once a decision is made.”

“Erestor, if you refuse to vote, then your vote is a yes,” said Voronwë. “There are four in favor and three are not. Only if you vote no will there be parity, and Maedhros and Fingon will need to decide.”

Erestor groaned and looked mournfully at Glorfindel. “I really do not want to vote against you.”

Glorfindel kissed Erestor’s brow. “Do what is in your heart.”

Meanwhile, Edrahil and Finrod had been whispering to one another. Finrod sprang up now and tugged on Erestor’s foot as he walked past. “Come with me, please,” he said with his head down as he headed in the direction of the tasting room.

Erestor furrowed his brow, but he followed after Finrod. The two of them headed into the room and shut the door. A click sounded a moment later.

Fingon sat up straight. “Did they just lock the door?” He stood up. “They cannot leave the meeting like this--we have to be together when we speak about these things. No secret alliances--we agreed on this!”

Maedhros tried to pull Fingon back, but Fingon was halfway to the door. He checked the door, and it was indeed locked. 

“Where is the key?” asked Túrin, who came to try the door again. It was indeed locked.

“Upstairs,” said Fingon. Túrin started to go for the stairs, but Fingon called him back. “You cannot leave,” hissed Fingon.

“What about the other door?” asked Tuor as he pointed to the door that led to a large room that Erestor had appropriated as a library. Without waiting for someone else to try it, he went to check that door. “Damn. Also locked. Why is this locked?”

“Because otherwise the marmoset will open the door and pull all of the books off the shelves,” explained Beleg.

Edrahil was on the edge of his seat and watching the locked door. Glorfindel noticed and asked, “What is he telling Erestor?”

With a sigh, Edrahil leaned back against the cushions. “How many of you have come face to face with that bastard? How many of you have looked him in the eyes and listened to his lies? How many of you have lived through days knowing you were already dead?” Edrahil looked at the door again. “He is telling Erestor the truth.”

The room became solemn, and Fingon paced while Edrahil picked at his nails. Glorfindel twirled a long strand of his hair around his finger, and the others mostly stayed silent and tried to listen for any hint of the conversation.

When the click of the lock was heard again, everyone focused on the door. It slowly opened, and Erestor came back out, with Finrod standing at the door, wiping his eyes. Erestor cleared his throat and said quietly, “My vote is no.” He looked at their hosts.

“You already know what I want,” said Maedhros quietly to Fingon.

Fingon paced a few times back and forth and looked up at various others as he did so. When he settled his eyes upon Erestor, he said, “A moment of your time, please,” and went past Finrod into the tasting room.

Erestor had made it nearly back to his seat, and he looked to Glorfindel. “I am sorry,” he said.

Glorfindel smiled at him. “I still love you, darling.”

Erestor smiled back, and then followed Fingon into the next room. This time, Erestor locked the door behind him. “I am not sure there is anything you can say to change my mind, but I feel I owe you the same consideration as I gave Finrod.” Erestor sat down on one of the tall chairs.

“I am not going to try to change your mind,” Fingon assured him. Fingon sat down across from Erestor and folded his hands on the table. “When I was King, I had advisers. I relied on them to help me make decisions. I would appreciate your advice now. I know that your vote is based on what is best for you to decide; how would you advise me?”

Erestor tensed. “I would prefer you not make me answer that.” The shorter Elf slid off the chair and walked to the wall of wine. His fingers danced over the necks of several bottles until he found one he liked. Slender fingers grasped it and brought it back to the bar, where he retrieved a corkscrew. “This is a difficult situation. In the end, not everyone will be happy. What you need to consider are the needs and wants of all of the parties involved. Some are neutral as it comes to it--Glorfindel, Tuor, Túrin, Voronwë, and Beleg. They do not have particularly strong convictions if they had been overruled. Some of them may speak strongly of opinions, but in the end, the decision will not affect them from a perspective of losing a friendship or something of that nature.”

“And what of Finrod?” asked Fingon. “What did he speak to you about?”

The cork was pulled from the bottle and Erestor retrieved a pair of glasses. He brought all of this back to the table and sat down again. “Tell me this--if the person being released was Melkor, and it was asked of you to house him here, what would your reaction be?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” asked Erestor as he calmly poured the wine.

Fingon’s brows knitted together and he frowned. “You know what he did to Maedhros. What he did to our family.”

“I do. And you know what Sauron did to Finrod, and Edrahil. That is why it is shocking the two of them are still out in that room. Now, here is the thing--you have more loyalty to Maedhros than you do to either Finrod or Edrahil. Even though there are two of them and only one Maedhros, still, you would choose one person’s happiness over two. And you should!” Erestor insisted when Fingon bowed his head. “He is your husband.”

“No, we--”

Erestor waved his hand as he pushed one of the goblets towards Fingon. “Yes, I know, technically not, but for all intents and purposes, you are. You have been. A long time.” Erestor took a gulp from his glass of wine. “He is the most important person in your world, and his happiness weighs more than the happiness of everyone else combined, so long as the request is reasonable. Do you feel the request is within reason?”

“He greatly desires a member of his family to be here--someone close, and if not a brother or parent, a nephew will suffice,” said Fingon.

“Then I think you already have your answer,” said Erestor. 

Fingon stared at the wine. He tapped the side of the glass. Then he picked it up and carried it with him as he left the room. 

“Well?” asked Maedhros as he looked up at Fingon. 

The wine was swirled in the glass. “The meeting is adjourned until tomorrow. I will announce my decision in the morning.”

Finrod was back in Edrahil’s arms, and burrowed closer to him. Maedhros looked both concerned and upset. Everyone else seemed motivated to return to their own rooms, and headed up two at a time. 

Only Glorfindel remained behind to wait for Erestor. When he did not emerge, Glorfindel entered the room. It was empty, but the door which led to the back of the library was ajar, and Glorfindel continued on to find Erestor in the alcove that contained a desk where he liked to sit and write. “The meeting ended.”

“I heard,” said Erestor. 

Glorfindel picked up the bottle and took a swig from it, and then sat down on the edge of the desk. “I never want you to be afraid to vote against me,” he said. “I know that in Imladris, we were usually a united front, but I want you to have your own opinions.”

Erestor patted Glorfindel’s knee. “I can still have my own opinions and support you. This was just a very difficult one.” Erestor drank again, and then said, “He told me what happened when they were captive. If that had happened to me, I do not think I would want him here, either.”

Glorfindel drank from the bottle again. “Should I change my vote?”

Erestor shook his head. “This is something Fingon and Maedhros need to decide. This is their house after all.”

“Finrod and Edrahil will leave,” Glorfindel predicted.

Erestor stared at a painting on the wall. “You should go talk to them,” he suggested. He turned and looked up at Glorfindel. “You crossed the Helcaraxë together. They consider you a friend. Tell them why you voted yes. For that matter--tell me why you voted that way.”

Glorfindel fidgeted with the bottle. “I like to think that sometimes people can change. I remember when we arrived, and no one would take us in--except Fingon and Maedhros. This is a house of misfits, and we belong here, and maybe Celebrimbor and Mairon belong here, too. It seems unfair that after you and I were chased and nudged away from so many places that we should vote someone away from a place that is a sanctuary. I did not get to experience the Second Age, but my understanding is that the relationship between Celebrimbor and Mairon was not good. If Celebrimbor is willing to give him a second chance, maybe we should, too.”

The wine was picked up and carried with them to their quarters. There was a washroom that conveniently joined their room to the one that Finrod and Edrahil shared. Glorfindel knocked upon the door, and was bidden to come in. He disappeared into the next room while Erestor poured a glass of wine for himself. 

An hour later, Glorfindel had yet to return. Erestor was on his second glass of wine and found he was not sleepy. He wandered with his wine out into the hallway. From Voronwë and Tuor’s room, he could hear low, animated discussion between the two of them. Obviously Glorfindel was not the only person in the midst of a debate. There was no sound from the room that Beleg and Túrin shared. Maedhros and Fingon lived on the upper level, and Erestor went to the spiral staircase which would lead him upwards. 

He found Fingon pacing the hallway. “Am I keeping everyone up? You can all hear me downstairs. I should have put on slippers. I have no idea where they are. Maybe I should just take a warm bath.”

“No. No one can hear you. I actually came up to see if you were still awake.” Erestor sat down in one of the plush chairs located in the hallway as Fingon resumed his pacing. “I want you to know that this was a very difficult decision for me. I want you and Maedhros to be happy, but I want everyone else to be safe. You understand?”

“Maybe. Yes. People change. Right? People change…” Fingon rubbed his head. “Is Sauron people?”

There were times Erestor doubted his own mastery of Sindarin, and then, someone would say something like this, and he gained renewed confidence. “Yes,” answered Erestor carefully. “People do change, and I think Sauron would be considered a person. It only stands to be seen how much he changed, and whether he might change back.”

Fingon dropped down in the chair beside Erestor. “Counsel me,” he begged. “You once served Elrond in that capacity, and I feel this decision is more difficult than anything I ever had to decide when I was King. I need guidance.”

“Maedhros obviously holds to his vote of yes,” assumed Erestor.

Fingon nodded.

“Are you leaning one way or the other?”

“I am in the same situation you are in,” Fingon answered. “I can either vote with my heart or vote with my head. If I vote against Maedhros, I risk...something. I do not think he would leave me, but...it would be difficult, at least for a while, to deny him a member of his family. He has wanted this for so long. But if I vote in favor and unleash evil onto Valinor, how can I possibly do that?”

“My first advice--breathe.” Erestor placed his hand upon Fingon’s arm. “I want you to close your eyes and consider this: If you were the only person who decided, if you and Maedhros were not together, and Celebrimbor was not part of the equation, if it was just you, and you were given the choice of whether or not to allow Sauron the chance to--”

“No.” Fingon opened his eyes and shook his head. “No. The decision is harder because of Celebrimbor and Maedhros and everyone else.”

“And yet, take those parts away, and you already have your answer.”

Fingon sighed. “You are right. I already know my answer--but this leads us no close to a decision. We are still tied.”

Erestor clasped his hands together. “Glorfindel has been speaking with Finrod and Edrahil for more than an hour. I suspect, by morning, there will be changes in perception. Glorfindel is not unreasonable; Finrod has very strong feelings on the matter.” Erestor rubbed his neck and said, “You found Maedhros after his ordeal. Sauron never laid a hand on Finrod, but Finrod had to watch every day as Sauron tortured Edrahil right in front of him.”

“Why did he not voice that to all of us?” questioned Fingon.

“He is embarrassed that he could not manage the strength to break his bonds and save Edrahil, but he was able to do so when the wolf came for Beren,” said Erestor quietly. “I am telling you this in confidence because I think you need to understand where he is coming from, and why this bothers him so very much.”

Fingon chewed at his bottom lip. “I do not know what I would have done if I had been forced to watch Maedhros suffer.” He looked up. “I think I need to go speak to him.”

“To Finrod?”

“To Maedhros.” Fingon leaned over and hugged Erestor. Fingon was a self-proclaimed hugger. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Erestor waited until Fingon had gone into his room and shut the door before he returned to his own room. It was still empty. He opened the door to the shared bathing chamber and saw light under the door to Finrod and Edrahil’s room. The thought of a warm bath from Fingon’s suggestion seemed the best next step. 

Lost with his thoughts, Erestor only realized time had passed when he skimmed his fingers over the surface of the water and found it was cool. He could still hear muffled voices from the next room, but his eyelids were heavy and his bed was cozy. Erestor snuggled into bed and did not wake up until late the next day.

Erestor woke up alone--in fact, it appeared Glorfindel had never come to bed that night. After stretching and getting dressed, Erestor made his way down to the ground floor. There, he found Fingon in the living room. Fingon stood up immediately and held out a hand. Erestor took hold of it, and Fingon gave Erestor’s hand a squeeze. “I want to thank you for everything. Maedhros and I spoke and we found common ground and understanding.”

“That is very good to hear. Does that mean you are at peace with your decision?”

Fingon nodded slowly. “Maybe you should sit down,” Fingon suggested.

Erestor slid his hand away and took a seat as Fingon sat back down.

“Maedhros and I were up very late, and we went over all of the possibilities. In the end, he understood my concerns--and I did not have to tell him what you told me about Finrod,” added Fingon. “Maedhros changed his vote to no.”

“Oh. I mean, good. I am glad that you were able to come to a consensus,” said Erestor.

Fingon nodded. Then he said, “Celebrimbor is downstairs.”

Erestor’s eyes widened. “He is?”

“So is...well, I am not really sure what to call him yet.”

“Shit.” Erestor felt a shiver down his back, and then asked, “But how? If Maedhros voted no--”

“Glorfindel. He sat up all night talking to Finrod, and Finrod changed his vote, and in turn, so did Edrahil.” Fingon gave Erestor an apologetic look. “Would you like to meet him? He is really brilliant, and I think the two of you would find a lot to talk about.”

“I assume you mean Celebrimbor.”

“Well, yes. Who else would--oh.” Fingon nodded. “Yes, I mean Celebrimbor. I still do not know what to call the other one.”

“I suppose we should ask.” Erestor stood up and smoothed his hair back. “Is everyone else down there?”

“Yes...except for Voronwë. As soon as Glorfindel and Beren returned with Celebrimbor and the other one, Voronwë said he needed to take a walk.”

“I see.” Erestor walked to the door which would take them downstairs, and Fingon followed. There was discussion between different parties heard as they made their way down the steps. Celebrimbor was beside his uncle, and Erestor’s first item of note was that Celebrimbor was also tall, and also had red hair. While Maedhros had more coppery colored hair that made him look like foxkin, Celebrimbor’s long hair was a darker hue. 

And then there was ‘the other one’, as Fingon was referring to him. He sat off from the others, hands folded, eyes watching. His hair was dynamic--equal parts red, orange, and gold. His skin was pink-grey, and his eyes were red inlaid over yellow orbs. His lips and nails were black, and so was the clothing he wore. 

“Do not worry,” Fingon whispered to Erestor, though it mattered not, for their appearance quieted the others so that all other parties heard Fingon’s words. “We were assured that he is practically helpless. He has been stripped of all his powers and abilities.”

Everyone looked around awkwardly as Erestor stepped off the last stair. Tuor coughed and Glorfindel beckoned him over to an empty space. 

That empty space was between Glorfindel and...well, it was time to find out what he wanted to be called. Erestor sat down, gave Glorfindel a kiss, and turned to the unexpected guest. “I am Erestor,” he said, and he extended his hand.

Tentatively, a gloved hand took hold of his. “Mairon,” came the soft reply. “A pleasure.”

Conversations began again. There was one between Maedhros and Celebrimbor which Fingon joined in on, and another being had by Glorfindel, Tuor, Túrin, and Beleg. Edrahil and Finrod were very quiet, sitting close to one another. They spoke very little, but might add a note of acknowledgment to either discussion from time to time. That left Erestor to contemplate the entire situation and consider searching for Voronwë. Instead, he decided to turn once again to Mairon and speak with him. “I know you have had many forms over the years. Was this your choice, or did the Valar return you like this?”

“A compromise,” was the soft-spoken answer. “They wanted to be sure I could not blend in. I am told I should be grateful for this opportunity.”

“And...how do you see yourself?” asked Erestor.

“Different,” was all Mairon would say.

Some time passed before Erestor thought of what else to say, and then offered, “I understand the desire to be integrated into the community.”

Mairon turned and stared at Erestor for a length of time that caused Erestor to wonder quite what Mairon was thinking. Just as Erestor was about to look away, Mairon said, “I suppose you would, dark one.”

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Expecting it to be Voronwë, Tuor stood and walked to the bottom of the stairway. Voronwë appeared at the top of the stairs and adjusted his spectacles on the end of his nose. “I thought, since there were reunions to be had, I would take it upon myself to acquire a few things from the market. I know we just had tacos, but, is anyone against tacos again this evening?”

“Tacos?” questioned Celebrimbor.

“You are going to love tacos,” declared Maedhros.

“I can come help,” offered Tuor as he started up the stairs.

“So can we,” added Edrahil. He tugged on Finrod’s arm, and they followed Tuor up the stairway.

“I get the feeling neither of them are happy I am here,” said Mairon to Erestor once the room had partially cleared out.

“That is putting it mildly.” Erestor was not about to honey-coat reality.

Mairon nodded. “I wish I could remember what I did.”

Glorfindel leaned against Erestor and whispered to him, “Many of his memories have been taken from him. He knows he did many things which were wrong, but many things are lost to him.”

Erestor looked at Mairon, hands in his lap, expression one of partial confusion. Then, Erestor looked at Glorfindel. “That seems dumb,” he answered back, without bothering to keep his voice down. “How is he to atone if he has no idea the atrocities he committed?”

Fingon, attempting to assuage conflict, clapped his hands together once. “Perhaps we should all go upstairs and help with preparing the meal.”

As everyone filed up the stairway, Mairon asked Erestor, “How terrible was I?”

From the top of the stairs, Celebrimbor turned and looked down. “Erestor, is it? I think we can discuss that later.”

But Erestor looked at Mairon and said, “Some would say that the embodiment of all evil was an Ainu named Morgoth. He was your mentor. Some would blame the teacher; others blame the student. There are those in this household who would name you the greatest enemy.”

There was a spark of a different emotion in Mairon’s eyes: Remorse. “I do not recall.”

At the top of the stairs, Celebrimbor cleared his throat.

Erestor lightly placed his hands upon Mairon’s shoulders. Only now did he realize that Mairon was returned in a form that was very short, and therefore, they could see eye-to-eye. “I can teach you,” Erestor unexpectedly said.

“We are making quesadillas, too!” shouted Fingon from the top of the stairs.

“What are...those?” asked Mairon.

“Basically, cheese and magic,” replied Erestor. “Come. I am sure you will enjoy them.” He motioned to the stairs, and Mairon proceeded up to where Celebrimbor was waiting for him. 

Now Glorfindel, who had been the last to walk to the stairway, came beside Erestor and put an arm around his waist. “Thank you. I know this is not going to be an easy transition, but I appreciate your openness so much.”

“My openness is surpassed only by my love of tacos,” Erestor joked. 

Glorfindel chuckled. “And practical,” he said with a smile. They went to join the others upstairs, knowing that there would be adjustments in their lives, but also feeling that it was a manageable hurdle. For now, it was a time for family and community and relaxation--after all, it was taco night.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
